Engine 45
by pathetic-really
Summary: Even at 17, Scourge is jaded and cynical, convinced that he's bad luck. He's resigned himself to living out the rest of his life alone because his relationships always end horribly. But then he meets Manic, who seems immune to his bad luck. Things start to look up but Scourge has to ask himself, when's the other shoe gonna drop? scourgexmanic MANOURGE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything**

**Engine 45**

**Chapter One**

* * *

He stepped onto the stage, feeling more alive than he had in days. His senses worked overtime to remember everything and store it in his mind. This, this is what made everything worth it. He felt almost hyperaware. He could taste his last cigarette on his tongue and his teeth. He could feel the heat from the stage lights and the jewelry that Fiona had 'given' him (more like forced on and threatened to kill him if he removed them) bouncing annoyingly against his chest. His usual pair of white gloves had been destroyed in an accident yesterday and had to be replaced with a pair of fingerless ones. He ran a bare finger over the head of the microphone, memorizing its texture. He could hear the hum of the amps that was almost lost in the ambient noise of the crowd and he could feel them, or imagine that he felt them, making the cheap wooden stage move with minute vibrations.

His ratty sneakers made almost no noise as he approached the edge of the stage. The people milling around grew silent as he got closer. The Suppression Squad was always popular for a local band but the news that this was their last show had spread fast and packed the club to its gills. The first notes of their agreed opener began to fill the room. Drago's large fingers moved with surprising grace and skill across the guitar's fret-board, Fiona joined in, weaving her own notes into the rhythm. Patch began to pound the bass drum and Miles' bass entered the fray. It was time for his part.

Scourge cleared his throat, brought the microphone to his lips, and began to scream:

" _Hey Mister, where have you been?__  
__I'll never get to live this life again…"_

The crowd went wild as Scourge screamed his heart out on the stage. The Suppression Squad ripped through the song with ease and began their next one with barely a pause, tearing through the set list with energy fueled by knowing that this was the last night they would share the stage together. They played with more intensity than when they knew a record company's talent scout was in the audience. This show was about more than getting signed. It meant more, it meant goodbye. Tomorrow Scourge would be sent to his new foster home, halfway across the country from Moebius.

As the final notes, the death knell of their band, faded Scourge looked back at his friends and felt the urge to apologize rise up in him. This was his fault, his curse of shitty luck that had screwed things up so badly. He stamped out the urge viciously. He had warned them that his curse was going to screw them all somehow but they hadn't believed him. Leather clad shoulders shrugged restlessly, he had nothing to apologize for right? He had given them fair warning. Let's just focus on enjoying what's left of tonight. After all this will probably be the last time he saw them, these dysfunctional bastards that were the closest thing to a family he had ever had. He gave them his signature sharp toothed smile as they descended from the stage and they smiled back, except for Patch who flicked him off. Scourge returned the gesture happily, knowing that this was as close to a friendly greeting as the anti-social coyote would get.

This is our last night together, Scourge mused, I'm gonna make damn sure we all enjoy it.

* * *

Scourge scowled as they pulled up in front of his new foster 'home'. To be honest he had been scowling all morning. If this weren't the norm for him he would have almost been afraid that his face had been permanently stuck that way. He was in a bad mood, still slightly hung-over from his going away party last night and itching for a cigarette. The social worker's bubbly attitude certainly wasn't helping his mood either. She acted as if being taken from his friends and shipped halfway across the country was some great fucking adventure.

"I mean golly-gee who _wouldn't_ want to miss out on a chance at getting signed to move to a brand new town just in time for senior year?" Scourge muttered sarcastically.

"See that's the spirit! It's an adventure; you'll meet some new people. Maybe even get yourself a girlfriend?" the woman shot him what was probably supposed to be a roguish wink.

He narrowed his eyes; apparently this stupid bitch's sarcasm sensor was broken. "_Girlfriend?_" he scoffed, "Did you not read the report on why I'm being shipped here? Or do you think I put that guy in the hospital for making fun of me for being _straight_?"

There was a pause as she tried to come up with a response to this. Apparently she couldn't because after a minute or so she chuckled awkwardly, "Well we're here. Uh, get your stuff okay?"

She exited the car quickly. He followed her, rolling his eyes exasperatedly.

The moment he was out of the car he lit the cigarette that had been tucked into the corner of his mouth since that morning, ignoring social worker's disapproving look. He blew a stream of smoke at her out of spite and gripped his worn-out suitcase tighter.

When she didn't move his scowl deepened, "Can we hurry this up? Or do you get paid by the hour when you're transporting us rejects?"

She started and then, flustered, led him up the driveway and to the front door.

It was a nice house, Scourge reflected as they waited for the door to be answered, it had a very suburban vibe. No obnoxious colors, no kiddie toys making the front yard their bitch, no dead patches on the yard. Just another cookie cutter house on a street lined with its clones.

He flicked the cigarette into the bushes as the door was answered and had to fight against the urge to make a mustache joke. The hedgehog, who introduced himself as Uncle Chuck, had one hell of a classy mustache. Scourge went into auto-pilot mode, listening absently as Chuck explained some of the house rules (keep your room clean, clean up your own dishes, no smoking in the house, etc.) and made small talk with the social worker. After about fifteen horrendously boring minutes the social worker bid them farewell, either ignoring or not noticing Scourge's death glare.

When the door had closed Uncle Chuck turned to him and smiled kindly, "Well Scourge I'm sure you're eager to settle in so why don't you go get your room all squared away? It's up the stairs and at the end of the hall, can't miss it. Dinner's gonna be at six. The triplets will be home by then and we can all get to know each other a little better. Does that sound okay to you?"

Scourge agreed that it sounded okay to him (not like it would have mattered if it didn't anyway) and headed up the stairs, lugging his suitcase after him. His room was indeed easy to find and he tossed his case into it carelessly before glancing around. The walls were painted neutral colors and the hardwood floor looked old but well cared for. A window on the far wall overlooked the backyard and the green hedgehog propped it open, letting the breeze caress him for a moment.

After the brief inspection of his room he flopped down on the bed, absentmindedly noticing how comfortable it was, and began to wait for six to roll around. No point in unpacking at any rate, he doubted he'd be here for very long.

* * *

**A/N: this is just the first chappie. A bit of a short intro I suppose just to get the story out into the waters as it were. Reviews are welcome, flames are not.**

**the song in this chapter is 'Hey Mister' by Miss May I. **

**So yeah, here ya go,**

**Pathetic-really**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Not a good goddamn thing is mine**

**Engine 45**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Scourge decided to walk to school the next day.

Who's bright idea was that anyway? Moving him to a new foster home literally the _day_ before the school year started.

He shoved his feet into his ratty sneakers, absently reminding himself that he should probably get a new pair before these disintegrated on him, and glanced at the hallway mirror. Briefly, he considered digging his comb out of his suitcase so he could brush some of the knots and snags out of his fur, but he dismissed the thought. His fur was clean after all, he wasn't one of those assholes that made everyone around them suffer through their B.O. 'cause they wouldn't shower, he just didn't see the need to _groom_.

"Hey Scourge, man, you sure you don't wanna a ride to school?" Manic, the only one of Chuck's nephews Scourge had been able to honestly say he didn't hate after meeting them last night, asked.

"I'm fine," Scourge waved him off. The other teen stared at him for a moment, shrugged, and padded back into the living room. Normally, Scourge would have accepted a ride in a heartbeat because walking long distances was a bitch for him (he had broken his ankle pretty badly in a track accident freshmen year, yet another example of how shitty his luck could be) but the car ride would have been too awkward. The first couple weeks at a new home were always pretty awkward. The first couple 'family' meals especially because he never knew what to say; what could he say? "Hey I'm Scourge and I'm gonna be living in your house, eating your food, and touching your shit for the next couple months until I turn eighteen and go right the fuck back to Moebius." For some reason he didn't think that that would go over very well.

He stepped out onto the porch, shut the door behind him, and lit a cancer stick, absently popping the capsule in the filter that would turn it to menthol. Addiction temporarily sated, he popped his earbuds in, rewrapped the fraying duct tape around one of the exposed wires (Fiona had offered to buy him a new pair before he left but he wasn't anybody's charity case, not even his friends) and hit shuffle on his battered Mp3 player. Heavy bass, dark synth, and crooned words assaulted his ears and he hummed along, recognizing the song instantly. When that song ended another came on, this one with the heavy double-bass drum kicks of metal. Well, Scourge would have called it metal but if you wanted to be a genre-douche it probably would have been called deathcore. The green hedgehog had never really put much stock into sub-genres, probably because his taste in music was so eclectic. He had a little bit of everything on his Mp3 player, metal, classic rock, dark wave, alternative, pretty much anything that wasn't rap or country (he hated those two genres with a fervor he usually reserved for bigots).

Scourge turned onto Main Street and flicked his smoldering cigarette butt away with practiced movements. A beater-ass van with 'SONIC UNDERGROUND ' airbrushed on the side rocketed past him. Sonic, who in Scourge's never to be humble opinion acted like the Energizer bunny after popping uppers all day, shoved almost the entirety of his upper body out the window and waved energetically at him. Scourge gave no indication that he had seen him and lit up again, deciding then and there that he would need more nicotine to get through the school day. Not that he intended to stay the entire day. No, he would be taking off after lunch. He had all the credit requirements for graduation met already, except for gym which he had failed sophomore year for never showing up. And really, who took gym seriously? You show up, shove on those stupid P.E. uniforms, and don't tell the teacher to go fuck him or herself, easy as picking a pin-and-tumbler lock.

Ten minutes, four songs, and another two cigarettes later he arrived at Mobotropolis High School. It was a large building made out of brown and cream colored bricks. Its front was dotted with windows and a large rectangular overhang threw the front doors (the metal and glass monstrosities that seem to be standard no matter which school you went to) into shadow. He stepped inside and looked around, trying to get a feel for the place. The first things that he noticed were the cameras, or more accurately, the _lack_ of cameras. Back at Moebius (which, admittedly, had a reputation for being kind of shitty and dangerous) there had been cameras every couple of yards, facing any direction you could think of. Here though, he could see one, only _one_, camera in the main hall. Surprised, he set off to complete the second part of his new school ritual, finding a safe-ish (there weren't any truly safe places in a school) place where he could go to ditch class.

* * *

He found a place easily enough; in one of the more secluded hallways that was probably part of the original school. A solid metal door acted as a bookend near the last row of lockers; A dented sign with white block stairs depicted on it hung crookedly at eye level and a padlock held it shut. The door wasn't really locked though, upon closer inspection Scourge found that the padlock was just positioned to look closed, it wasn't actually latched. After making sure that he wasn't being watched he slipped inside, carefully re-adjusting the padlock before letting the door close. Steep stairs, worn from years of previous use, led up to what Scourge assumed to be a landing and then did a one hundred and eighty degree turn, continuing upward. The stairwell smelled like stale cigarette smoke and weed, Scourge smirked, convinced that he had already found the stoners between block hang-out. The tinny sound of a cheap boom box playing Bauhaus drifted down to him. Curious, he ascended the stairs.

On the landing he found a striped hedgehog tucked into the far corner, cancer stick burning between his fingers. Red eyes narrowed in a venomous glare when they caught sight of Scourge. Without moving or saying a word the dark-furred teen managed to convey that this was HIS spot and if Scourge thought he could make him leave then he could go fuck himself prison style.

Scourge raised his hands, palms out, in the classic gesture of surrender, "Cool it with the glare, asshat. I just came up here to smoke."

The glare directed at him intensified, "What did you call me?" his voice was deep but had the soft, hoarse quality of someone who didn't talk much.

Scourge smirked and blew out a series of smoke rings before responding, "Asshat. Ya' know, someone whose head is so far up their ass that they can wear it as a hat."

The striped hedgehog shot to his feet, hands clenched angrily, "I should kick your ass for that kid."

The scarred teen stepped closer, "Should I be scared? I did a stint in No Zone, if you think some goth kid with shitty fur dye is gonna scare me then you're dead wrong…asshat."

"My name…is Shadow!" Shadow growled. Without warning he threw a punch at Scourge. The green hedgehog avoided the punch easily, throwing his own punch that connected with Shadow's stomach. Shadow doubled over and Scourge grabbed his shoulders, heaving him face first into the wall. The striped teen blinked blearily but recovered quickly. He leapt at Scourge, unleashing a flurry of punches, not holding back.

* * *

It was difficult to say who won the fight. There were no broken bones but by the end both of them had black eyes and the skin on their knuckles had split open underneath their gloves.

Scourge slumped against the wall and spat out a glob of blood, "You have one hell of a right hook."

Shadow touched one swelling eye and winced, "Same."

Scourge glanced at the time on his Mp3 player and did a double take, "Did we just beat the shit out of each other for all of first block?"

The dark hedgehog checked his phone and shrugged, "I guess so."

They sat down (well, Scourge just slid down the wall until his ass hit the concrete) and lit up at practically the same time. They smoked in silence until Shadow spoke again:

"This isn't fur dye. It's natural."

The green hedgehog chuckled, "Oh yeah? Good to know Stripes."

"Stripes?"

"Better than Asshat, isn't it?"

* * *

**A/N: and there's chappie 2.**

**Read and review if it aint to much trouble.**

**Also if you're looking for a good Manourge fic then check out **_**Hail to the King**_** by trancepanda**

**See ya,**

**Pathetic-really**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Engine 45**

**Chapter 3**

**A/N: sorry this chapter took so long. Life and work, you know?**

* * *

As it turned out both Scourge and Shadow had the same second block class, Rock and Roll Methods, and after finishing their respective cigarettes they left the sanctuary of the smoke spot to head to class. Shadow led the way since he actually knew where the classroom was and Scourge fell into step beside him. The two teens had come to unspoken understanding, neither of them would go so far as to say that the other was their friend but they could, at the very least, tolerate each other. As strange as this may seem it didn't bother Scourge much, he had had the exact same type of relationship with Patch back in Moebius. Their blackened eyes and bruises got them a lot of sideways looks and curious glances but nobody asked. In fact, from the way people were avoiding them, Scourge was starting to think that Stripes was a people-repellant. Absently, he wondered what Stripes had done to make people so damn twitchy around him. He didn't really care one way or the other (he couldn't really get on a high horse when it came to beating the shit out of people, after all) but it was something to think about.

He decided to test his people-repellant theory out. He nudged Shadow casually as they were passing a group of nervous looking students and asked: "Hey Stripes, how's your face feel? Figured I'd ask since it looks like shit."

Shadow growled (one of the younger looking girls, probably a sophomore, squeaked in fear) and threw a not-so-playful punch at him, which he avoided easily. Scourge laughed and glanced back over his shoulder at the frightened looking teens. He felt a smirk growing on his face.

'_Oh I am gonna have so much fun with this.'_

* * *

Xxx

* * *

Scourge tapped his pencil against his chin, thinking, and then quickly scribbled another line of the fledging song into his notebook.

"Are those even words or are you just trying to look busy?" Shadow (or Stripes as Scourge had taken to calling him) asked, sounding curious. He shifted in his chair so that he could get a better look at what Scourge was writing.

Scourge glanced at the teen sharing the table with him and then back at his handwriting. One of Scourge's first foster parents had deemed it necessary for him to learn how to write in cursive and he had never quite gotten back into the habit of printing; although over time his handwriting had devolved from neat loops and bumps into a heavily slanted and cramped mess that might, from an objective standpoint, look like a scribble.

"They're words smartass." Scourge grumbled, writing down another line as if to emphasize his point. Shadow snorted skeptically and Scourge rolled his eyes, "I suppose your handwriting is just perfect then?" he asked sarcastically.

The striped teen reached over and plucked the pencil from Scourge's fingers. He pulled the notebook away and quickly wrote something near the bottom of the page before pushing it back, smirking smugly.

The words _'might not be perfect, but definitely better than yours' _were scrawled across the bottom margin in annoyingly neat handwriting.

"…smug asshole."

Shadow's face remained mostly impassive but Scourge thought he could see a glint of amusement in the back of his red eyes, "What are you writing anyway?" he asked.

"Song." Scourge replied noncommittally.

"You're in a band?"

"This song's for a side-project, actually."

As far as Scourge was concerned the Suppression Squad was on hiatus, but he needed something to fill his time. It's possible for a vocalist to fall out of practice, after all, and the last time he had fallen out of practice it had taken him weeks to get back to where he had been. He'd be stuck in this place for a little under a year in the best case scenario, so he figured he'd start-up a new band, play a couple gigs, and just kill some time.

"Side-project, huh? Side-project from what?"

"Eh, don't worry about it Stripes."

"Chaos-damnmit if you call me Stripes one more time I'll—"

"Whine like a bitch?" Scourge smirked and dodged another not-so-playful punch.

* * *

Xxx

* * *

Manic walked into the Rock and Roll Methods classroom with his brother and looked around, trying to see who he recognized. To his surprise he noticed that Scourge was sitting next to Shadow Robotnik. Shadow was a notorious loner, and seemed to like it that way. The only person who he willingly spent any amount of time with was Rouge the Bat, who had graduated at the end of last year. And, to make things even stranger, both teens looked like they had had the shit kicked out of them. Well, actually it wasn't that strange. Shadow had a habit of beating the hell out of people. Apparently he had tried this on Scourge and the other teen had fought back. It still didn't explain why they were sitting together but, Manic did feel a little less confused.

Apparently he wasn't the only one to notice this strange development because Sonic stuck an elbow into his side and whisper-shouted, "Bro, am I going crazy or is Scourge sitting with the Faker?"

"No dude, I see it too." Manic rubbed his eyes, blinked a couple times, and then looked back, "Yeah, it's still there. We both musta lost our minds. Bummer majores, right?" he chuckled and walked to the back of the room. He dropped his backpack onto the floor and slumped down into his chair.

Sonic sat down next to him and began tapping his fingers on the desk, "So I've been working on this new song but I hit a road block on the third verse, think you could help me out?"

"Yeah, sure bro. No pro—"

*BRRRIIIIIIINNNNGGG*

The bell rang from its position directly over their desk and both boys jumped.

The teacher ran into the room a moment later, out-of-breath from trying to get to class on time.

"Hi…I'm Marcos…your teacher…whew, give me a minute." He leaned forward, hands on his knees, and took a couple deep breaths. The young-looking wolf straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, sorry about that guys. Anyway, I'm Marcos, your teacher and uh, it's my first year teaching so uh, I'm nervous obviously, but I'll try not to screw up too much."

Marcos pulled the strap of his messenger bag over his head and set it on the desk. He hoisted himself up onto the desk and sat cross-legged, looking a little like an excited second-grader, "So, I learned something pretty awesome today, you guys wanna hear it?"

There was a general murmur of ascent.

"Okay so I'm a pretty big fan of The Suppression Squad; any of you guys heard of them? Band from Moebius, almost got signed to Overlander Records? Anyone?"

A couple people around the room raised their hands, Manic and Shadow included.

"So I went on their website yesterday, and they were saying goodbye to their vocalist 'cause he was moving out of Moebius. I thought the vocalist's name was familiar so I looked over the list that has the names of all the students registered to take this class and…he's on the list! I get to teach the vocalist from the freakin' Suppression Squad! How awesome is that!"

Manic perked up at that. He had stumbled upon a song by the Suppression Squad on the internet about two months ago and been hooked instantly. It would be way past cool to actually be able to meet the dude.

"What's his name?" someone asked.

"Scourge!" Marcos smiled cheerfully.

Manic could feel his jaw hit the middle of his chest.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, chapter 3 is done, hopefully I'll be able to finish chapter 4 soon. Uh, just for the record Marcos is not an OC, he's a character from the Archie Comics.**

**So how many of you guys have heard of trancepanda? He's got a MANOURGE fic up on here that I think is pretty good so if you're looking for something to read check it out. It's called _Hail to the King._ He also has a ZonicXSonic fic called _Narcissism_ that you could check out.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading.**

**pathetic-really**


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